


dairy queen (but right now, i'm in the shower)

by markrenton



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9572654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markrenton/pseuds/markrenton
Summary: Hansol wouldn’t say he’s an unhappy person. But he also wouldn’t say he’s a happy person, and maybe that’s the problem.(He returned to New York almost a year ago and so far it hasn’t been the way he thought it would be. New York and Seoul are so different, vibrant in different ways and for different reasons, and he can’t decide which phoniness he prefers more.).





	

**Author's Note:**

> ah. what.. this is a mess. i dont.. know what to say about this. at all.
> 
> a round of thanks to-  
> 1) fay, my jeonghannie, thank you, i love you  
> 2) anna, my hansol consultant, you really have no idea how much i love and appreciate you  
> 3) cat, obviously. forever and ever. i love you  
> 4) daysha. i don't even need to say anything. i love you more than anything
> 
> DAIRY QUEEN DOESNT HAVE WAITERS BUT I AM NOT AMERICAN AND I DID NOT KNOW AND I WAS TOO LAZY TO EDIT I AM SORRY
> 
> title is a song by pwr bttm called dairy queen take a listen

Everything hurts. His limbs are sore and his flesh is burning and he wishes he could get out- get out of his own skin. He wipes glitter and cosmic energy off of his hair in the shower, the water stream reminding him he’s still here, even after a night out, another night he regrets once he gets to his stinky, lower east side apartment, wishing he had never went out in the first place- wishing he had stayed in and watched Nickelodeon instead. He rinses his hair from shampoo and watches pieces of confetti and glitter disappearing into the hole in the bottom, cold water making him feel new, but not alive.

Hansol always loved taking showers.

Hansol wouldn’t say he’s an unhappy person. But he also wouldn’t say he’s a happy person, and maybe that’s the problem. He rubs nonexistent bruises on his arms and leaves the shower and the blissful water, wrapping a worn-out towel around his waist, taking another to dry his hair on his way to his bedroom. It’s Friday night, and he knows he probably missed a call from his mom. He curses himself for forgetting about her usual calls, and knows she probably thinks he’s fast asleep by now, and wouldn’t call him again. He misses her sometimes- he misses Seoul, misses his dad, misses his sister. He returned to New York almost a year ago and so far it hasn’t been the way he thought it would be. New York and Seoul are so different, vibrant in different ways and for different reasons, and he can’t decide which phoniness he prefers more.

He can’t remember why he has come here in the first place.

Even though he remembers leaving Korea as fleeing Korea, the friends he made in the year or so so far, are all Korean New Yorkers, almost, and he isn’t sure how he has managed to pull that off. Before he left he told his mom,   
  
“I want to experience people. New people, different people. Different people from here.”   
  
His mom sighs and closes the refrigerator door after retrieving milk for her tea. “Can’t you meet different people here?” Hansol shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Not anymore.”   
  
She smiles at him, softly, like she knows something he doesn’t know. She does it often, and although when he was younger he used to despise it, he finds it warm and familiar now. She stretches in order to kiss his cheek, and Hansol can only look down at the wooden floors, an unexplainable apologetic feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He’s going to be twenty one (internationally) in a month. It’s not a long while to be around, but it feels like forever. It feels weird to celebrate the same birthday two years in a row, but he reminds himself, he’s not in Korea anymore.

Falling asleep, fortunately enough, always comes easy. He closes his eyes and puts his phone down next to him, connecting it to the charger. Once it wakes up, he has about five texts from Seungkwan, asking him if he made it home safe.

He texts back, _yes,_ and presses the lock button. It takes him five minutes to fall into a deep sleep.  
  
Minghao opens the door for him, and Mingyu whistles as he sees Hansol step into their apartment, making him laugh as Minghao closes the door behind him. “Hey man,” he tells the red-head as he nods back at him. Hansol sheds his coat off and hangs it in the closet near the door. He’s always admired Minghao’s and Mingyu’s ability to keep their apartment so tidy and organized- but they’re older, and more experienced, and they’ve been living in New York for a while now, so perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised.

He usually pops at their place during lunch, because if he wouldn’t, he doubt he’d eat anything, and Mingyu’s an excellent cook. Taking his shoes off, Hansol smells burgers, hears Mingyu flipping them on the pan.   
  
“Came to use me again, did you, Vernon?” Mingyu says in a pseudo offended tone, a smirk at the side of his lips, his canines bright when exposed. Hansol moves to stand just behind him and squeeze his shoulders as Mingyu flips another burger, probably one for Hansol.   
  
“I did,” he confesses, which makes Mingyu chuckle. He joins Minghao at the dining table after opening the fridge and grabbing three cans of coke, offering Minghao one as he sits down.   
  
“Heard you went to that new club yesterday. Was it fun?”   
  
Hansol narrows his eyes at Minghao, pressing his lips together. “Who told you? Seungkwan?”   
  
Minghao shrugs his shoulders, opening the can.

“Just a club. Glitter and foam and twinks,” Hansol says, opening his own and taking a sip, swallowing the fizziness down his throat.   
  
“So, I take it you didn’t have a good time.” Minghao places his tobacco, paper and filters on the table, and Hansol takes a small bag out of his pocket, as well as a grinder. He hands the both to Minghao.   
  
“Do I usually have a good time?” he asks as he watches Minghao’s slender, skillful fingers working tobacco and weed into a paper. Minghao nods, giving Hansol an expression that says, _you have a point._ “Then why do you go?”   
  
“To get laid.” He says, casual, handing Minghao the filter he rolled for him, the redhead placing it at one side of the joint, before rolling it to a close. “Yet, you never speak to anyone.”   
  
“What’s this, Minghao? A pep-talk or a talk-down?”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “Oh, calm down. Seungkwan told me he’s worried about you.”  
  
“Of course he did. He’s been worried about me since we met,” Hansol says in a mocking tone, and Minghao hands him the finished joint. He lights it up, takes a long drag into his lungs, and lets the smoke disappear out his lips.   
  
Mingyu changes the scene abruptly as he comes behind Hansol with a plate of medium burgers and buns fried with butter. The scent is incredible, and Hansol is suddenly reminded of how hungry he is. Mingyu sits down next to Minghao after placing a plate for each of them, and Minghao comments.   
  
“Still a waiter at heart,” he looks up at Mingyu, who smiles and leans down to kiss him softly, sitting next to him. “And a chef in progress. Help yourselves.”

All three grab burger buns and patties, vegetables on the table already, to add if desired.

Hansol adds fried onions and some lettuce, closes the bun and takes a bite. The first hum comes quiet and the second comes low but loud. He looks up at Mingyu with appreciation, who takes a bite himself and nods back at him.

They spend Saturday noon just like that, eating, and talking, smoking another and then a third. Hansol loves spending time with them- they give him a vision of something he wishes he had, but not in a way that makes him pity himself.

They finish eating and Mingyu holds the third joint between his fingers when Minghao stands up and takes the plates away to put in the sink and wash them. When he’s in the kitchen, Mingyu starts speaking to Hansol in Korean. Which only happens when they’re alone.  
  
“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Hansol shakes his head, taking the last sip of his coke and places it back on the table. “Why?”   
  
Mingyu sighs. “We’re going out. One of the waiters I used to work with quit and finally started studying. He got into NYU.”   
  
“Okay. Where are you going?” Hansol asks and takes a napkin from the stand they were latched on.

“Dairy Queen.”  
  
He laughs out loud. “Dairy Queen? Of all places in New York, you’re going to Dairy Queen to celebrate?”

Mingyu nods, pouting his lips. “It’s affordable. He did just quit his job.”

“And why should I be there?” he continues, and Mingyu shrugs, biting his lower lip.   
  
“He’s cute.”  
  
Hansol sighs, rubs his forehead. “Oh, Mingyu, come on.”

Mingyu whines at him. “Please. For me, just this once. He really is cute! He’s studying psychology.”

Hansol stares at him, then glances away. They’ve tried to hook him up once before- it didn’t quite work, but it earned him a best friend. Seungkwan.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.”

 

Hansol leaves their apartment and makes his way back to his own using the subway, trying not to overthink on his way home. He didn’t ask Mingyu for the guy’s name, but he still managed to raise a ton of questions. How old is he? Is he also friends with any of Hansol’s friends? Is he Korean like the rest of them, or just a plain New Yorker, someone Mingyu had met in one of the many shitty diners he worked at?

He stops thinking. It’s hurting his brain to think this much, and suddenly it makes sense why his head hurts all the time. He’s too caught up in his own mind.

It’s already four in the afternoon when he arrives home. He takes his shoes off at the door, tossing his coat on the couch and falling face-front into the cushions, groaning loudly to himself. The day isn’t even close to being over yet, but all he wants to do is sleep. He flips himself around and takes his phone out of his jeans pocket to check his texts.

None.

He texts Seungkwan,  
  
16:07 _what are you up to?_

The three dots appear about ten seconds later, and then the message.

_16:07 i stayed at seungcheol’s. slept till two pm. he’s making me pancakes._

Hansol rolls his eyes and makes a puking sound.

_16:09 sounds truly lovely_

_16:09 so, you’re like a thing now?_

Seungkwan doesn’t reply for three minutes. Hansol considers throwing his phone to the side and take a nap.

_16:12 i think so. idk, but i like him._

He doesn’t have the power to reply to a text like that. Seungkwan’s his best friend- and although he’s happy for him, he really is, Hansol’s still bothered. Maybe because he blames himself for the fact they didn’t work out.

He rubs his face hard and takes his phone into his hands again to reply.

16:16 _he better like you back_

16:16 _he likes me back, hansol._

Seungkwan’s the only person who doesn’t call him Vernon. He always introduces himself to people as Vernon, but one night, after the first time they’ve hooked up, they were lying in bed and Seungkwan popped the question, in Korean.

“What’s your Korean name?”

Hansol squints his eyes at Seungkwan and throws the sheets over them, huddling for warmth. “Does it really matter?” he responds, a little sleepy, letting his eyes flutter shut. Seungkwan punches his shoulder and Hansol opens his eyes. He sees Seungkwan nodding at him.  
  
It takes him a minute, but eventually he spits out, “Hansol.”

He doesn’t remember Seungkwan calling him Vernon ever since.

He lets his phone fall next to him as he turns to lie on his side, his hands under the side of his face. For a moment, he considers what it would have been like if he could have just been himself back then. Maybe Seungkwan and him would have a way to keep up with each other.

He falls asleep.

 

Sunday always feels faster than Saturday. Perhaps because the next day he has to wake up for work, and he barely notices time slipping through his fingers. He tries waking up early, but hits the snooze button at ten in the morning, and only opens his eyes again at quarter to twelve.

Hansol sits up in his bed, and he doesn’t even remember getting there the night before. He salutes himself for being responsible enough to move from the couch to his bed. He rubs his eyes to get the sleep out and reach for his phone. He has a text from Mingyu.

11:32 _Two PM at Dairy Queen on 14th st. Please don’t be late._

Hansol doesn’t understand what he means at first, but then he remembers Mingyu’s trying to be a matchmaker again. He also doesn’t understand why they’re meeting so early, but then he remembers it’s Sunday.

He gets up and it’s fucking freezing. He grabs a hoodie from the floor and zips it up, pulling the hood onto his bed-head hair, and walks out of his bedroom and into the kitchen to get himself some coffee.

Hansol can’t decide whether to come up looking good, smelling good, or as a total wreck, ruin his chances before the guy, whoever he is, even considers giving him one. He goes for the former, maybe to please Mingyu, or maybe because secretly, he does want a chance.

He goes for his usual black tight jeans and a white Strokes t-shirt. He even takes a shower, and uses the Dolce and Gabbana cologne he spent almost seventy dollars on. It’s one fifty PM when he leaves the house, and he prays he’ll make it on time, because he can only imagine Mingyu’s death stare if he’ll show up even a minute late.

He gets there, four minutes to two, and all of the… gang, seems to be there already. Mingyu probably told him two and they all got there half an hour earlier.

Hansol walks over to the group of guys, consisting of Mingyu, Minghao, Junhui, and Wonwoo, and a guy he doesn’t recognize- probably the guy Mingyu spoke to him about. They sit in a large booth and Hansol squeezes himself next to Wonwoo, at the edge of the couch.

“Hey,” he says, takes his jacket off and places it behind him. Junhui and Minghao were conversing in Mandarin heatedly, and Mingyu grinned widely as Hansol made himself comfortable.   
  
“Vernon, this is Jeonghan,” he says in a tone that makes Hansol wish he could bury himself. He glances up to meet eyes with the guy and for a moment he’s a little starstruck- perhaps from afar he couldn’t really see his face that well, and wow, he’s pretty. Almost the kind of pretty that would intimidate you, but his eyes are like circles, round and tired, which makes him softer.

“Hi.” By the name, he’s Korean. Hansol wonders if he’s moved here or if he’s been here his whole life, but he figures that he shouldn’t ask these kind of questions so early in their first meeting. 

It’s awkward. Hansol doesn’t know if Mingyu only told him he’s trying to hook them up, or if Jeonghan knows about his scheme as well. It makes the air tense. He hopes with his all heart neither Junhui or Wonwoo know, since Minghao probably does.  
  
The waitress comes to their table to get their orders; most of them are pretty simple. Both Minghao and Mingyu get caramel sundaes, and Wonwoo orders the strawberry. Junhui orders a chocolate sundae, Jeonghan hot fudge, and Hansol chooses the pineapple sundae.

Jeonghan sniggers. “Pineapple sundae?”

Hansol nods, and the waitress walks away after taking all their orders. “What’s wrong with pineapple sundae?”   
  
“That’s pretty much the grossest thing I’ve ever heard of.” Hansol pretends to be shocked.   
  
“Guess you’ve never tried it then,” he says, and from the corner of his eye, Hansol can see Jeonghan smirking, almost devilishly.

They talk, and it’s nice. It’s mostly feels like plain flirting, at first, but as time passes by Hansol finds himself having more and more… fun? He isn’t sure how to describe it, but something about Jeonghan is exceptionally peaceful and quiet. Even when he’s loud and he makes the rest of the table laugh, he’s quiet. It makes Hansol more comfortable, he doesn’t feel like he needs to impress anyone, be mature, appear a certain way to appease him.   
  
He never liked doing that. He had to do it a lot in Korea.

They get their sundaes and start digging in. Junhui whines that he should have gotten a blizzard, but the chocolate shuts him up pretty quickly. Hansol takes a bite of his pineapple sundae and nods to himself, then catches Jeonghan eyeing him.   
  
“Want to try it?” he asks, raises an eyebrow.   
  
Jeonghan smiles, and shakes his head. His teeth are very small. “No, thanks.”

  
“What’s so wrong about pineapple sundae?” Hansol half asks half talks to himself, digging around the plastic.   
  
“Well, I actually respect myself, so.” Hansol’s smile starts small but widens, and eventually he glances up to meet the other’s eyes again, still tired brown orbs that make Hansol extremely curious. He doesn’t reply, but just keeps eating his sundae. A minute later, Jeonghan speaks to him again.   
  
“Wanna grab a smoke?”

Hansol takes one of the last scoops of his sundae. “Are you telling me people still smoke in New York City?”

Jeonghan shrugs his shoulders and sighs. “Pretty sure I’m the only one left.”  
  
“Sure.” Hansol says, and the both get up. None of the guys ask any questions. Hansol figures Mingyu told them.   
  
It’s not easy to find somewhere to smoke in New York, so they squeeze into an alley not far. Jeonghan takes out a pack of Camels, and offers Hansol one. He declines, so Jeonghan simply puts it between his own lips, and lights it up.   
  
“You seem young.” Jeonghan remarks, and Hansol nods.

“I’m gonna be twenty one in a month.”

Jeonghan laughs between a pool of smoke, and rubs the back of his neck. “You really are young.”  
  
“You’re not young?” Hansol asks, finds it difficult to look anywhere besides the concrete floor.   
  
“I’m going to be twenty six- well, twenty five. In October.” Jeonghan taps at his cigarette and ash falls onto the ground. Hansol follows it with his eyes.

“How long have you been here that you’re still confused about your age?” Hansol gets the courage to meet Jeonghan’s face again. He hasn’t had a conversation with anyone this way, in a while. It stresses him out.

“Too long to still get confused about my age.” Jeonghan confesses, and Hansol empathizes. “Isn’t it weird to celebrate the same birthday again?”   
  
He laughs and brings the bud of the cigarette to his lips again, and now that Hansol is looking at him, he can see the way his lips form a circle around the bud, and how pink they are. That’s even more stressful.   
  
“Yeah, it doesn’t matter how long I’m here, it always feels like the wrong birthday,”   
  
“I’ve been thinking about telling people I’m turning twenty three instead.”  
  
Jeonghan smiles, and he looks down at the ground himself now. There’s a sudden silence between them and Hansol doesn’t know how to fill it. It’s awkward, and he hates himself for making it awkward. He hates himself for agreeing to come here in the first place, he hates himself for believing Mingyu this could work, he hates himself for--   
  
“Wanna get out of here?” Hansol turns his face to the elder, blinking. Well, that’s unexpected. He’s been sure he just blew it up.   
  
“What about the other guys? We haven’t paid for our sundaes.” Jeonghan runs fingers through his hair. It’s long, and brown. Hansol envies him for the courage to grow it. It looks soft, inviting.   
  
“They can pay for it. Mingyu forced you to come here anyway, didn’t he? You’re doing him a solid. He can pay for you.” That makes Hansol chuckle and he agrees, and they cut through the alley to get to the other side of the street, before starting to walk fast so they wouldn’t get caught.

“What did Mingyu tell you about me?” Hansol asks once they start walking at a normal pace again, side by side. Jeonghan takes a tie from where it was tight against his wrist and holds it between his teeth, gathering his hair behind his head in a ponytail, then ties it together.   
  
“He said you’re cute. That you work at a bookstore. He didn’t lie, as far as I can tell. Unless you don’t work at a bookstore?” Hansol thinks he might be blushing.   
  
“I do work at a bookstore. The shittest bookstore in the lower east side.”   
  
“Why is it so shitty?” Jeonghan asks, and Hansol stops, because he can’t think of what to say. He never gave it much thought, why he calls it the shittiest bookstore in the lower east side, or why he calls his apartment the shittest apartment in the lower east side, too. He’s actually certain there are much worse apartments in the lower east side.

“Maybe because I work there?” he offers, and Jeonghan pouts his lips, like the answer is satisfying enough for him. “I get that. I worked at the shittest diner on 46th’s street.”

“That’s like, Broadway. Don’t bullshit me.” Jeonghan has a shy, but sly grin on his face, and Hansol buries his hands inside his jacket pockets. January is cold in New York.

“Are you cold?” Jeonghan asks, and Hansol isn’t sure if he likes being read so easily. Nevertheless, he isn’t surprised.

“Yeah.” he replies genuinely, and Jeonghan nods. “I know a good place with apple cider.”

 

Hansol doesn’t pay much attention to which street they’re on and where they’re going. He’s too caught up talking to Jeonghan on the way over. He’s twenty five- he said that earlier, and he’s been living in New York for the past three years. Hansol can’t help but tease him for saying he’s twenty six when he’s been living here for so long. Jeonghan makes a face at him.

He came here with barely any money, made his way from working at shitty diners to Fifth Boulevard restaurants. He says, “I think it’s my looks. Or maybe my charm.” Hansol says he believes it’s the latter.

Jeonghan asks, “Are you flirting?”

Hansol bites his upper lip, shrugging his shoulders. “Shouldn’t I?”  
  
Jeonghan keeps talking.

By the time they get to wherever Jeonghan wanted to take him, Hansol already knows Jeonghan has wanted to study Psychology since he was seventeen. He wanted to try and study in Korea, but that didn’t work out so well.  
  
They sit down at a table and they order two apple ciders, the ones Jeonghan mentioned were _seriously good._ Once they arrive, Hansol stirs the cinammon stick around his beverage and asks,

“Why Psychology?” Jeonghan’s tongue sits between his lips, and Hansol can tell there’s a reason behind it.   
  
“I wanna be a social worker. Work at a kids’ shelter.” Social worker?   
  
Jeonghan continues, “part of the reason I left Korea was because my parents weren’t too okay with me favoring guys over girls,” his voice changes, a little less confident like its usual tone, slightly resentful. “I wanna help kids like me.”   
  
Hansol stares at him. He doesn’t know if Jeonghan really wants to open up this subject so early into them knowing each other. He senses he doesn’t.

Instead of commenting, Hansol takes a sip of his cider and says, “This cider really is the stuff.”  
  
Jeonghan smiles at him, smile soft, genuine. “Yeah, I know.”

They’re halfway through their ciders when Jeonghan exclaims, “Well. You know all about me now,” Hansol cuts him off, “I’d say that’s an exaggeration--” “Silent! It’s your turn now.”  
  
Hansol sighs, laughing, and rubs his forehead. “Fine. What do you wanna know?”   
  
“Why are you here?” Jeonghan’s voice is quiet, suddenly. The air is quiet, tense. Hansol barely knows where to begin.

“I don’t know, man.” he breathes, but Jeonghan doesn’t look satisfied. So he continues, “Maybe I just got tired of Seoul. Of who I was when I was there,” he swallows, playing with the spoon inside his glass. “I love Korea, don’t get me wrong-- it’s my home. People always think I’m so in touch with America, because my mom’s from here, but.. I mostly never knew anywhere else than Seoul.”

When Hansol glances up, Jeonghan is looking at him curiously, like he’s waiting for him to keep talking. It feels new, talking like this to someone who’s basically a stranger.

“I just, I couldn’t make anyone happy while I was in Seoul. Couldn’t make myself happy.”  
  
“So, you moved here.” Hansol nods, and Jeonghan nods too.   
  
“Are you happy now?”   
  
Hansol finds himself staring at Jeonghan again. No one’s asked him that in the past soon to be year he’s been living in New York, and it hits him like a wall of bricks, blocking his airway. He shakes his head no.   
  
“Maybe there’s something you’re still doing wrong.”   
  
Hansol huffs, rolling his eyes. “Are you telling me you’re happy?” Jeonghan laughs out loud. “No, no one is happy. You just gotta stop,” Jeonghan stretches his arm and presses his finger to the middle of Hansol’s forehead. “thinking about it so much.”

It’s the first physical contact they’ve met since they met- maybe three hours ago, Hansol doesn’t know. He hasn’t checked his phone the entire time.

They keep looking at each other, and Jeonghan takes his finger off of Hansol’s forehead, and they both laugh simultaneously. Hansol now notices, Jeonghan’s laugh is low, and it sounds like a comic book chuckle, a real life _ha ha ha--_ he likes it. It’s calming.

The rest of their conversation is mostly just regular small talk- movies, music, stories about the gang in New York and friends back from Korea. Jeonghan tells him about the time he _almost_ caught Mingyu and Minghao going at it in some club’s bathroom.   
  
“I’ve known Mingyu really early in their relationship, he was a mess back then,” he talks through laughter, untying his hair and letting it fall gracefully around his shoulders. Hansol swallows. Thickly. “Pretty much since I’ve moved here. They weren’t as gross back then as they are now,” Hansol has to cover his mouth as he laughs, his eyes fluttering.   
  
“They really are gross. But I like it.” Hansol confesses, pushing his empty cider glass aside, unconsciously (or extremely consciously) inching closer towards Jeonghan. “You like it?”   
  
“Yeah. They’re.. I don’t know how to describe it. They’re each other’s person. I like it.”   
  
Jeonghan looks at him, and Hansol doesn’t know what he’s thinking. He doesn’t say anything, either. Hansol tries his best not to stress out.

Then Jeonghan leans in, and Hansol hasn’t even noticed how close they’ve been this entire time. Their lips touch, and for a split second he doesn’t have jack shit idea what to do, until he melts and kisses the other back, letting his lips part slowly against the other’s, his hand reaching to take a hold of Jeonghan’s cheek.

It doesn’t feel different than any other kiss he’s experienced before, but it also doesn’t feel the same. He wants to blame it on the cider, he wants to blame it on the situation, the way his heart feels heavy in his chest, but he knows it’s neither. Jeonghan’s lips are soft, but still somewhat chapped. Hansol’s own lips are dry, and the wetness between their mouths gives him that _sting-_ it feels good.

The kiss seems to last for a while. Hansol doesn’t count the seconds but time seems to pass very slowly while they kiss, perhaps he’s just hallucinating- it feels like a solid minute or two, maybe even three. It doesn’t exceptionally deepen or get heated, it’s rather simple, if anything. He feels just the tip of Jeonghan’s tongue, just when they part, and his breathing feels a bit shallow as their mouths disconnect.

Hansol looks down at the couch they’re sitting on and licks his lips, bringing his fingers up to touch them. He’s actually a bit flustered, and that hasn’t happened in a long time.   
  
“Okay,” he says, coughing quietly and rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks feel warm. He hopes it’s the heating (wishful hoping?)   
  
Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, he just leans in and kisses Hansol’s cheek, which makes him feel even more flustered.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

 

They have to take the subway to get to Hansol’s apartment, and Hansol tells Jeonghan _you really don’t have to do this,_ to which Jeonghan replies with _I want to,_ so Hansol drops it. They sit next to each other, and they don’t talk; at some point, Hansol allows himself to sneak his hand towards Jeonghan’s, their fingers intertwining. Jeonghan accepts the grip, and Hansol grins at his shoelaces, feels Jeonghan’s fingers tracing circles over his skin. It feels intimate, but not sexual, and it’s absolutely terrifying, to say the least.

They reach Hansol’s building and they climb up the stairs to the door, and the both stand there- it’s a strange situation, five in the afternoon on a Sunday, saying goodbye to someone you’ve just kissed. Hansol considers asking him if he wants to come up, but he doesn’t want to give Jeonghan the impression that all he’s wishing for out of this is sex.

Then Jeonghan says, “Give me your phone.” Hansol hurries to pocket his phone out and hands it to Jeonghan, who seems to be putting his number in. “Call me. Whenever.” Hansol still can’t say anything, so he grins and nods, his tongue sticking just a bit between his lips. Jeonghan chuckles.  
  
“Bye.” He waves once before skipping down the stairs, starting to walk away, and Hansol, delayed, murmurs out _bye._

Hansol drags himself up the stairway and fishes his key out of his pocket, kicking his shoes off, walks to his couch and sits himself down. He _can’t think._ That doesn’t happen often.

He takes his phone out of his pocket to check how Jeonghan saved himself on his phone and the Korean stands out, almost unfamiliar. Hansol reads it in his mind, _Angel._ He reminds himself to ask why he saved his number under Angel, and gets up to his computer, deciding on a song from his iTunes.

 _Slide_ by _Jake Bugg._

He curls himself up on his couch and listens to the lyrics; they always hit him hard, in the pit of his stomach. They’re simple, but powerful,

_Don’t know to take it in. Is love just suffering? Cause I can see where the chapter ends. I’ve got autumn leaves.. and heartbreak dreams, inside. Cause you and me, on this frozen sea, we slide._

That song always reminds him of Seungkwan. He hates remembering the way he had felt back then, how stupid he was. Truth is, he knows he did fall in love with him, almost five or six months ago, when New York felt new, and exciting, and he was such an idiot.

What’s even more concerning, is how warm he feels, in his chest. He rubs it harsh, strong, letting his body fall, his arms reaching the floor, all the blood rushing to his head, until he has a headache.

When he closes his eyes, he can feel lips against his, he remembers the taste of tobacco on Jeonghan’s tongue, just as he pulled back, and the small breath he felt against his mouth.

 

Hansol wakes up, a strange familiar sound waking him, and he slowly realizes it’s his phone, and that someone is calling him. He checks the time, and it’s seven o’clock. He fell asleep for two hours.

The screen shows _mom,_ and he’s quick to slide the screen and pick up the call. His mom’s voice at the other side of the call, the other side of the world, makes him sigh.   
  
“Mom,” he says, sleepily, sitting up comfortably on the couch, bringing his knees up against his chest. “Yeah. Yeah, I was.” she asks if he’s been sleeping, and he gets up, walks to his kitchen to get himself some tea.

“You sound like a mess,” she says, and Hansol laughs, nodding to himself. “Sounds about right.”  
  
She tells him she’s taking Sofia to school today because there’s a lot of snow. He pictures snowed down Seoul, and for a second his heart aches. “Is Sophie there?” he asks, and there’s a moving sound before his sister’s voice comes from the other end.

“Hi.” she says, and Hansol has to stop a breath. It scares him, realizing just how much she has probably grown since the last time he has seen her, and he nods and replies, “Hey, sis.”

“How’s New York?” she asks, and he swallows. “Cold.” he responds, and he hopes she can’t hear the discontent in his voice. “How’s school? Seoul?” she huffs, and he can imagine her shrugging her shoulders. “Cold, too. School’s the same as always.” Hansol laughs, walking to the fridge to get milk for his tea. “Still daydreaming?”

“Mhm.” She answers. Hansol thinks she’s still a little mad at him, for leaving Seoul. He doesn’t blame her; if it had been the other way around, if he had been the younger sibling, he would have been a little resentful too. “Don’t worry, Soph. I’m gonna get mom to convince dad to let you visit.”

“Really?” she says, and her tone sounds more interested, upbeat. “Yeah. But don’t tell either of them yet,” that makes her laugh, and he realizes how much he missed hearing her laugh, seeing her smile. He almost resents himself for not being there to take care of her.

They keep talking about normal things, he tells her about the guys and how they’re doing. He’s sure she already has a mental image of how they look like, from all the stories he’s told so far.  
  
“I gotta go now, we got to school.” She tells him, and he nods, taking a sip from his tea before placing it on his beside table, curling up in his bed. “Alright. Bye, lil sis.”   
  
“Bye, big bro.”   


He gets up for work the next day, functioning on autopilot, going to the corner shop to get some coffee before making his way to the bookstore, yawning loudly as he walks inside and the bell at the door rings.   
  
“Stop yawning,” Wonwoo tells him as the door closes behind him, the elder fixing some sort of order the books are in, one that Hansol can’t really remember. He clocks in as he goes to the cash register and pokes his tongue out at Wonwoo.

He sits down at the stool behind the counter and downs a large sip of his coffee, trying to get as much caffeine into his system. Wonwoo comes up next to him, leaning on the counter and tilting his head.   
  
“Well?” he asks, and Hansol raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, what?”   
  
“You and Jeonghan. You just disappeared yesterday. Mingyu was practically gleaming with excitement,” Wonwoo stacks a pile of new releases on the counter. Hansol shrugs, running fingers through his hair. It’s gotten too long, he notices. Seungkwan’s voice echoes in his mind; _you need a haircut._ “Yeah, it was nice.”  
  
“Oh, shit.” Wonwoo exclaims, and Hansol narrows his eyes as he turns to look at him again. “Oh, shit?” Wonwoo grins at him, sly. “You’re not sharing anything. You like him.”   
  
“That’s how you decide if I like someone? Whether I share my time with them or not?” 

Wonwoo nods, pouting his lips. “Well, yeah. You usually never stop talking about the guys you’ll never see again. You barely said anything about Seungkwan back then,” Hansol sighs, shaking his head at Wonwoo’s lack of tact.   
  
“I’m going to tell Laylah you’re harassing me.” Hansol covers his face in his hands. The worse part, is that Wonwoo’s actually right. He tends to keep things like these to himself, especially if he really does like someone. And he’s doing it with Jeonghan now; it’s actually scary.   
  
“You can’t tell my girlfriend on me.” Wonwoo retorts.   
  
“Watch me.” Hansol murmurs back, leaning down and pressing his forehead against the counter.   
  
Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck, and repeats himself, “Oh, shit.”   
  
“Would you stop saying that?”   
  
“No, seriously. Shit. You really do like this guy.” Hansol looks up at him, then pouts his lips as he turns his gaze away, wishing for a customer to enter the store right about now.                                                      
  
“I just met him, stop.” Wonwoo laughs, and Hansol turns to face him again, furrowing his eyebrows. “What’s so funny?” Wonwoo shakes his head, still smiling.   
  
“Never thought you could fall in love at the Dairy Queen.”   


Work is boring, but it pays his bills, so far- his apartment is just lousy enough that his lousy income can suffice. It’s not that they sell that books, that would be a flat out lie. But since Wonwoo has become the manager, things have gotten better. He organizes a lot of fundraisers, for the store itself and also to give public schools books. Hansol finds it admirable, how much Wonwoo cares about other people’s knowledge- and that he found his passion. Hansol isn’t quite sure about his passion yet.

The day seems to go on forever, and it’s already three PM and he has two hours left for his shift. Most of the time he only works at the cash register rather than help customers find books; that’s mainly Wonwoo’s job. He’s always ready with recommendations.

He checks his phone and he sees he has a text from _Angel._ Hansol can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as he unlocks his phone.

15:17 _where are you right now?_

Hansol bites his bottom lip, crouching on his stool and leaning on his palm as he replies.

15:18 _work._

15:22 _what’s the address?_

Hansol blinks at his phone, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure what to do. He could just say he’s off work in an hour and a half, and that they can hang out later if Jeonghan wants to.

He decides to send,

15:26 _why?_

15:26 _i can tell you now or i can make you guess._

Hansol laughs at his phone screen and sends Jeonghan his location.

 

He spends another boring fifteen minutes watching Wonwoo talking to a client about some _really good read,_ and just then someone walks into the store, and Wonwoo’s head shoots up and he says, “Jeonghan,” which makes Hansol turn his face to the door, and see the long haired smiling at the both of them.

“Do you really need him right now?” Jeonghan says and points at Hansol, and both him and Wonwoo raise their eyebrows.

Wonwoo sighs, “Well, we close in three hours, and he doesn’t do much anyway.” Hansol figures he should feel offended, but all he feels is excitement. He clocks out and skips on his feet to walk over to Jeonghan, who seems to be containing his grin. He sees him wink at Wonwoo before taking Hansol’s hand and dragging him out of the bookstore.

“How the hell did you do that?” Hansol asks once they’re just a little bit further away from the store, and Jeonghan keeps his hold on Hansol’s hand, pushing it inside the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Didn’t we already establish that I’m charming?” Hansol laughs, glancing down to see their hands conjoined inside Jeonghan’s pocket.   
  
“Where are we going?” he questions, and Jeonghan says, _my place_ . Hansol can only think of one thing they could do at Jeonghan’s place. “Where’s that?”   
  
“Close to the Williamsburg Bridge.” Hansol nods, and they keep walking quietly, until he feels Jeonghan dragging him towards a nearby alley, and his hands find both of Hansol’s cheeks before their mouths meet. The kiss is entirely different than their first kiss. It drowns with desire, almost hungry. Hansol returns the kiss, trying to match with Jeonghan’s frenzy.   
  
This time, he gets much more than the tip of Jeonghan’s tongue. He feels it slide at the roof of his mouth, and he can feel it against every burn he has there from eating something too hot too fast. Then it feels like the ice he eats afterwards, then it feels like the feeling of healing.

When they pull apart, Hansol’s hands slide to Jeonghan’s hips, and he grips at his striped t-shirt.   
  
“What was that for?” he mumbles, breathless, and Jeonghan’s hand presses against his chest, fingers gripping at the fabric.

“Couldn’t do that in front of Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says, just as breathy. Hansol gives out a laugh, and the both look at each other for a few more moments. He leans in and kisses Jeonghan again, both of them laughing into the kiss.

“Did you just make my boss dismiss me so we could have sex?” Hansol whispers as they stop out of the alley and continue walking, their hands inside Hansol’s pocket this time.

“Not just for that. That’s just.. 45 percent of my plan.” Hansol laughs and buries his face against Jeonghan’s shoulder, who in turn slaps at his chest and lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Liar.”

When they get to Jeonghan’s place, Hansol stands at the door as Jeonghan unlocks the door, then pulls the elder inside- he closes the door behind them by pushing Jeonghan against it. His expression is so easy to read- an expectation Hansol feels himself, and they stand there for a few moments, mere centimeters from each other.   
  
He leans in slowly, letting their lips touch just barely before the kiss turns deep and heated, hands gripping at shirts, their mouths turning sloppy fast. Jeonghan makes these sounds, small sounds, that would have gone unnoticed if Hansol hadn’t been so immersed with him.   
  
For the past month or two, whenever Hansol hooked up with anyone, it had all been about himself- well, he’s not that cruel, he does make sure his partner gets something out of it- but it hasn’t been like this. He wants to focus on Jeonghan, see what he can do to make those sounds louder.

Jeonghan bites at Hansol’s bottom lip when the kiss ends and he drags him across the apartment to find where the bed is- as he looks around, trying to figure out his geography, he sees it’s more or less of a studio apartment. He manages to fall just on the bed, and pulls the elder along with him, who settles easily on top of him, straddling his lap.

“You sure about this?” he asks him, and Jeonghan nods as he slides his jacket off his shoulders and let it fall on the floor.

“Do I look unsure?” he asks, and leaned down to press soft trailing kisses at the side of Hansol’s neck. Hansol finds it difficult to form coherent sentences suddenly. As if he had been just so articulate up until now.

“I just- I mean, if it’s just- sex, then-,” Jeonghan stops, cuts him off.

  
“Wow, wait, no.” Hansol stares at him with his hands holding at his hips tightly, Jeonghan’s hands gripping his shoulders. “We can stop if you wanna take it slow. I don’t mind.”   
  
Hansol blinks, letting out a breath as he squeezes at Jeonghan’s hip, who leans into the touch. He coughs, letting go of one side of Jeonghan’s hips, leaning on his palm against the bed. “Yeah, I mean… maybe we could… talk?”

Jeonghan’s cheeks are red and his hair is a bit tousled, messy, and when Hansol watches him, he regrets what he has just said. He wants to say, _no, forget about all that, I really need to fuck you,_ but he doesn’t say anything. Jeonghan raises his leg and slides off of Hansol’s lap, and sits next to him.

  
“Yeah. We could.” They both stare into space, breathing shallow. The air is so tense, and Hansol already misses their proximity. He turns to look at the other, and he turns his face to him, and they kiss again, and somehow, it’s even more chaotic than earlier.

He doesn’t know when or how it happens, but their clothes disappear. He doesn’t even remember taking his shoes off, but they're gone too.

Hansol feels like he’s dreaming. He remembers the occurrences only after they happen; kissing Jeonghan’s neck, scratching at his ribs, rolling his hips against the other’s. One memory that sticks out between the mess of his mind, is Jeonghan sneaking his hand between his legs and wrapping his fingers around his dick. They were both laughing, their mouths touching-not-touching, and he feels Jeonghan swallowing at the gasp he let out when double jointed fingers grip at his base.

He remembers Jeonghan nodding when Hansol asks him _“Do you want me to fuck you?”,_ the way his eyes looked even more glassy than they usually do.

Jeonghan ends up riding him. Hansol feels high; that would explain why he lacks the concept of time. Everything feels so far away yet so close, and Jeonghan’s hands at his shoulders are the only thing keeping him down, aware of himself. He can also hear Jeonghan talking to him, mouthing quiet things just at his ear, sweet nothings, and although he wants to respond, all he can do is listen.  
  
He remembers coming vivdly, and more so he remembers Jeonghan coming even more. His nails dig into his skin, just at the curve between his shoulder to his neck, and he clenches around him. Even during his own climax, Hansol feels that Jeonghan is completely in control, and so he opens his eyes to see his expression. His eyes are fluttering, and his mouth slightly parted. Somehow, his lips look pinker than usual, perhaps because of all the intense makeout sessions in between, and that’s when Hansol gives in and allows himself to melt entirely, and he comes.

They lie on Jeonghan’s bed afterwards, and Hansol presses his body against the back of Jeonghan’s, craving warmth. He’s always extremely sleepy after sex, and he feels as though he’s passed the extreme. He’s exhausted.

They spoon silently for what feels like twenty or so minutes. Hansol is just on the verge of falling alseep when he feels Jeonghan turn around, and they’re so close, Jeonghan’s mouth is just at his chin, and he takes use of the opportunity to press a small kiss just there.   
  
They both fall asleep.

They wake up about two and a half or three hours later, and while Jeonghan stays in bed, Hansol gets up to take a shower. He stands up, and his legs feel like they’re made out of jelly. He gets hair out of his eyes and asks, “Where’s the bathroom?”   
  
Jeonghan responds to him sleepily, “it’s the only room with a door.” and Hansol proceeds to find the only room with a door, and make his way towards there- then he hears Jeonghan’s voice again, but in Korean.   
  
“Where are you going?” his voice sounds lower in Korean. Or maybe it’s just because he’s only woken up.   
  
“To take a shower. Wanna join me?”   
  
Jeonghan shakes his head against the pillow, trying to grab more of the blanket over himself. “Mhm, no.” Hansol laughs, smiles at the half-sleeping man, and continues to enter the bathroom, locking the door.

He turns the water on and hopes Jeonghan’s the kind of person to make sure he has hot water. Once they hit a warm enough temperature, he bends his knees and gets inside, letting the stream fall at his head and cascade to his shoulders. He rubs his face and opens his eyes when he’s not under the water, and searches through the hair products in Jeonghan’s shower to find shampoo- it takes him about a minute, but he finds it, and the scent written on it is _coconut._

He gets out of the shower after he finds a towel he could use and wraps it around his hips, walking back to Jeonghan’s bed. “I’m gonna steal a pair of underwear,” he announces, to which Jeonghan simply hums in response, hugging his pillow tighter.   
  
Once he’s fully dressed, he needs to kneel to reach the height of Jeonghan’s bed, and reaches to run his fingers through his hair and move it away from his eyes, revealing his face. He suddenly has a slight idea as to why he calls himself angel.   
  
“Jeonghan. I gotta go.” he whispers, and Jeonghan’s eyes flutter open, until he blinks at the younger and gives him a pout.

“You smell like me.”  
  
“I used your shampoo.” Hansol thumbs at his cheek, and Jeonghan smiles, lopsided. “Hey, I got a question.” he adds, and Jeonghan raises an eyebrow, nodding once. “Shoot.”  
  
“Why’d you name yourself Angel on my phone?” Jeonghan hums, letting out a quiet sigh.

“Stands for my birthday. October fourth.” Hansol says it in his mind, and goes _ah,_ which makes Jeonghan laugh and murmur an _ah-uh._ _  
_ _  
_ “Call me?” Hansol asks, and Jeonghan simply nods again, and leans up- Hansol leans down, presses a soft kiss to his lips.

 

The next day when Hansol wakes up for work, he checks his phone for texts from Jeonghan. None. He gets up and makes himself coffee, goes to take a shower- checks his phone again. None. He goes to work, deciding to place his phone away from him just so he wouldn’t be tempted, and when his shift is done, he grabs it from the back of the shelf where he hid it- and none.   
  
It’s already five in the afternoon. Not a single text from Jeonghan, not a single call.  
  
On his way home from work, as he presses the home button on his phone several times just to see if a text would miraculously appear, he gets really worked up. He’s done it before, hooked up with someone and never called them back- but Jeonghan seems to be different. Or maybe he’s got it all wrong.

Hansol dials Seungkwan, waiting for him to pick up. He picks up at the fourth ring.   
  
“He hasn’t called me. He hasn’t even texted me.” Hansol says immediately as Seungkwan picks up, and the next thing he hears is his best friend clearing his throat.   
  
“Since when do you get worried if someone calls you or not?” Seungkwan asks. Hansol can hear him typing through the other end. He’s probably studying.   
  
“We had sex yesterday.” Seungkwan doesn’t reply for a minute. Hansol needed to disclose this to someone, since telling Wonwoo at work was a big no-no (they literally left work to fuck), and it’s been eating at his throat trying to find a way out.   
  
“Right.” Seungkwan says. His tone makes Hansol worry even more. Seungkwan’s always been someone who seems to know just about everything about relationships. Every gesture, every text, every word has a meaning.

“Am I that bad in bed?” Seungkwan laughs, and for a mere moment, Hansol feels a little bit better.  
  
“No, you’re not. He’ll call you,” Hansol rubs the back of his head as he walks up the stairs to his apartment.   
  
“You don’t know that,”   
  
“I do. Unless you really did fuck up and you’re just not telling me.” Hansol curses at him.   
  
“I didn’t!”

“Just wait. Maybe he’s busy.” Seungkwan sounds busy as he says that sentence.

 

Hansol gets home, and he takes a nap. Sleeping is the best way to avoid thoughts, and especially the best way not to stare at his phone for the next three hours.

The day after that continues to be the same. He hasn’t heard a squeak from Jeonghan yet, and when he wakes up, he feels like forgetting his phone at home. He doesn’t.

Work is extremely more boring when all he can think about is what he’s done wrong. He remembers clearly, telling Jeonghan, _call me,_ and the way he nods, sleepily, his eyes only half open, round, dark brown orbs, taunting even when he’s not exactly conscious. He imagines a black hole swallowing him gone inside of the bookstore.

His mind his causing him havoc. Whenever he closes his eyes he either sees Jeonghan in dim lighting, laughing hard and holding his hand so tight his blood stops, or Seungkwan, telling him he needs to find himself before trying to find himself in other people. Wonwoo shakes him from his daydreaming and tells him to check inventory, and for the first time, he’s actually thankful he’s at work. He feels like he’s drowning inside his head, and he doesn’t know how to swim his way out.

When he gets home, he’s too tired to shower. He smokes a joint on his own and lets the television run something he’s not paying much attention to.   
  
(Seungkwan grabs the remote. “I wanna watch Dance Moms,” he exclaims, and Hansol stretches himself on the couch, trying to steal the remote back from him before he changes the channel.

“I’m in the middle of Spongebob, let go,” he says, mid-laughter, and Seungkwan only extends his arm further, making it harder for Hansol to reach for the remote control. Hansol keeps his failing attempts, until Seungkwan powers over him and makes him forget about his goal by sitting himself on his lap.

“One episode. If you don’t like it, we’ll watch Spongebob.” Hansol lets out a breath.  
  
“Okay.”).

He falls asleep on the couch, wakes up to Abby Miller screaming from his TV, and turns it off.

 

Thursday comes along so slowly, and it’s three days now. Three days after they fucked, three days of radio silence, three days of Hansol pretending he doesn’t care, three days of being too scared to text Jeonghan himself. Three days of fearing rejection, something he has never feared before.

He doesn’t work on Thursday, which makes matters worse, because he doesn’t even have somewhere to go, somewhere less lonely than his apartment, somewhere he can have a false sense of productivity.

He texts Mingyu and lets him know he’s coming over. Mingyu doesn’t object, but still reminds Hansol it isn’t Saturday yet.

Hansol gets ready and leaves his apartment, eleven in the morning. Usually, at this time, when he doesn’t have work, he’d still be asleep. He makes his way down the stairs to the subway and finds a decent spot to sit in, leaning his elbow on his knee as he chooses a song from his library, sticking his earbuds inside his ears.

Mingyu opens the door for him. Hansol doesn’t even try to smile at him, and instead just walks in and takes his shoes off, pacing inside and dropping himself to the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees before Mingyu joins him on the couch, and sighs.   
  
“What’s wrong?” He asks, and Hansol wants to cry. He would cry, if he felt comfortable doing that. But he doesn’t, and he just turns his head to face Mingyu, who couldn’t be more of a big brother for him right about now, and when he opens his mouth, it takes him a second to realize he’s speaking Korean.   
  
“I never cared about if someone calls me back or not. I never cared about things like that, you know? I don’t… take things like that seriously. But it’s been three days. Three days! And he hasn’t texted me even. And we..”   
  
Mingyu places his large hand on Hansol’s head, nodding. Hansol bites his tongue in attempt not to lean into the comforting touch, yet he does anyway. “You’re a brat.”   
  
“Why am I a brat?” Hansol narrows his eyes, but doesn’t move.   
  
“What’s stopping you from talking to him? Why can’t you be the one to talk to him?”   
  
Hansol swallows. He doesn’t know. Why is he so scared of being the one to try? Why can’t he convince himself to be the one who cares more? Why can’t he, for once, do more instead of always pretending to be relaxed about everything?

 

Mingyu feeds him breakfast. Two eggs of sunny-side-up and toast, bacon on the side. They keep talking, and Hansol feels a sense of freedom he hasn’t felt in a while. He didn’t use to be a person who hides his emotions, but since coming to New York, he’s been keeping himself an arm away from everyone, even people he knows he can trust.

Mingyu was the first person he met, who introduced him to the rest of the group. To Wonwoo, who got him a job, to Junhui, who took him out every night, and to Seungkwan, who he had eventually fallen for, who turned out to be his best friend, and to Jeonghan. Who’s still confusing to him. Seungkwan might be Hansol’s best friend, but Mingyu is without a doubt his brother. He hates himself for not appreciating him as much as he should.   
  
“I think it was Seunkgwan.” he says, and Mingyu raises an eyebrow at him.   
  
“Seungkwan?”   
  
“Yeah. I think he was the first person I fell for.” Mingyu leans on his palm, taking Hansol’s fork from between his fingers to cut himself a piece of bacon, sighing as he inhales it. “That’s good bacon,” he murmurs as he flails the fork around, then continues.   
  
“And you’re scared to let that go.” Hansol bites at his tongue again, like an instinct, when someone tells him something he knows, but likes to deny.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Mingyu smiles at him, his tooth-less smile that reminds Hansol of a puppy. “You do realize that’s only because you actually like someone?” Hansol rubs his his forehead, letting out a shaky breath.   
  
“Then what am I supposed to do?” he sounds helpless, and he feels helpless.   
  
“Try. Really, honestly, try.”  
  
Once the plate it empty, Hansol stands up and puts it in the sink, and returns to the dining table to sit in front of Mingyu. He has a conflicted expression on his face, and Hansol furrows his eyebrows as he tries to catch his eyes.   
  
“What?” he asks, a smile at the side of his mouth.   
  
Mingyu bites his bottom lip, running fingers through his hair, then grits his teeth. He keeps staring at Hansol for another long moment, and so he repeats himself. “What? Come on.”   
  
“I’m gonna ask Minghao to marry me.”   
  
Hansol eyes turn wide and he doesn’t know what to say. He feels absolutely dumbfounded. It’s not the kind of news you’d think you hear when you’re twenty, but Mingyu is six years older than him. Apparently marriage becomes sought after at that age.   
  
“Really?” is all he manages, and Mingyu swallows so thickly he can see his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He nods, and Hansol feels a smile forming over his mouth, before he leans in to punch at Mingyu’s shoulder. “That’s amazing. I’m really happy for you, man.”

  
  
When he takes the subway home, he feels different. Less stressed out, less caught up in his own head. New York feels warmer, almost like a home, even the subway doesn’t seem as shitty. The Lower East Side isn't as shitty, the bookstore on the way home isn't as shitty, and he can't wait to be back in his apartment, which isn't at all as shitty.    
  
He buries his hand inside his pocket to fish out his keys as he gets closer to his building, and eventually digs them out just as he reaches the stoop.   
  
“Hey.” Hansol glances up as he hears the familiar voice, and there he stands, hair down and leather jacket. He’s suddenly completely out of his element. 

“Hi.” he stops there, bringing his hands back inside his pockets. He isn’t cold at all. Jeonghan stares at him for a minute, and Hansol maintains eye contact.   
  
“I don’t know how to do this,” Jeonghan says, and his eyes flee and fall on the concrete under their feet. Hansol feels like his heart is expanding just standing there listening.   
  
“I know I didn’t call you. I wanted to call you. I almost did, like fifty times, but, I didn’t. I like you, I’m just not good with- feelings, and you seem so... true, and I didn’t know how to--” Hansol cuts him off, standing a little bit closer and placing a hand on his mouth, and Jeonghan’s tired eyes aren’t very tired anymore.

Hansol tries to remember everything Mingyu told him earlier. That being scared is the most natural thing to be, but he shouldn’t run away from it, he should embrace it. Because if he’s scared, it’s good. If he’s scared, he’s feeling something, and if he’s feeling something- something real, he’s alive. Jeonghan’s there, standing in front of him. That’s real.   
  
“I didn’t call you either.” Hansol says, and takes his hand off of Jeonghan’s mouth slowly. “We can be nice, or we can be mean. How about nice?” Jeonghan doesn’t say anything for a while, until he nods. Hansol cracks a smile, wide and unflattering, all teeth and wrinkles around his eyes. Hansol can feel Jeonghan’s heart calming down, and so he offers him his hand, and they walk up the stairs inside the building.

“How long have you been out here?” he asks.  
  
“About half an hour.” Jeonghan shyly coughs out.   
  
“Wanna take a shower?” Jeonghan laughs.  
  
“Yes.”

* * *

 

“Stop fidgeting.” Hansol laughs, and Jeonghan turns to face him, the expression on his face deadly. Hansol laughs again, raising his arms for defense. “Alright, alright. I take it back.”  
  
“Would you focus? She’s going to be here any second.” Hansol sticks his tongue from between his teeth as he smiles, eyeing his boyfriend from head to toe. He hasn’t really appreciated how different (gorgeous) he looks like with his hair short.

“You’re more nervous than I am. She’s just a seventeen year old girl, calm down.” Jeonghan hits his chest, hard. Hansol opens his mouth in shock, protecting himself before a second hit comes.   
  
“That’s exactly why I’m nervous, you idiot.” Hansol rolls his eyes. He can’t help but stare at Jeonghan fondly as he searches around dozens of people leaving the gates all at once.

“She’ll love you, don’t worry.” Hansol mumbles, joins Jeonghan and looks around for his sister among the people reunited with their family and loved ones.   
  
“You don’t know that.”   
  
“I do.” Jeonghan runs his middle finger through his hair, pushing it back, and Hansol loses focus again, stares at him.   
  
“How?”   
  
_Because I love you._ “I just do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> i am sorry. truly. this sucks. twt: @chweyoon


End file.
